


For this reason the sadness too passes

by a_big_apple



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bird mom, Crying, F/F, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Pearls Lore, She's letting it all out, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple
Summary: Pearl didn’t choose her therapist; the young woman sitting before her with legs crossed and a notebook in her hand was the only therapist at this practice available in a time slot that worked for Pearl’s very busy schedule. Still, Pearl read her biography on the therapy center website and found several appealing phrases, like “family-oriented” and “evidence-based,” and a number of specialities that, after some research, seem as though they may be relevant.
Relationships: Bismuth/Pearl/Pink Diamond's Original Pearl | Volleyball, Pearl/Rose Quartz (Steven Universe)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 60
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiltedsyllogism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiltedsyllogism/gifts).



> Written for this year's Fandom Trumps Hate charity auction! Tiltedsyllogism asked for Pearl in therapy, and...this is what happened. Longer and sadder note at the end of the fic to say a bit about the process, but the teal deer is that I hope this feels real, and also cathartic and hopeful.

_I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralyzing because we no longer hear our surprised feelings living. Because we are alone with the alien thing that has entered into our self; because everything intimate and accustomed is for an instant taken away; because we stand in the middle of a transition where we cannot remain standing. For this reason the sadness too passes: the new thing in us, the added thing, has entered into our heart, has gone into its inmost chamber and is not even there any more,—is already in our blood._

_-Ranier Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet_

***

Pearl didn’t choose her therapist; the young woman sitting before her with legs crossed and a notebook in her hand was the only therapist at this practice available in a time slot that worked for Pearl’s very busy schedule. Still, Pearl read her biography on the therapy center website and found several appealing phrases, like “family-oriented” and “evidence-based,” and a number of specialities that, after some research, seem as though they may be relevant. 

“So Pearl,” the therapist says. Pearl rearranges herself a little on the couch; the impulse to fold her hands together and plaster on a service smile is sudden and strong. She focuses on the therapist instead. Her name is Jennifer, she remembers. She’s small and slender, dark-skinned and dark-haired with tight curls like Garnet’s that spring out angelically around her face. Her expression reminds Pearl of Garnet as well; calm, serene, kind but a little unreadable. “I had a chance to read through your intake paperwork. It seems like there’s quite a lot of background for us to talk about, and that’s something we can start to do in this first session and continue with if you choose to. But I’d like to hear from you about what you want to work on, and what brings you here now.”

Pearl’s hands fiddle a little in her lap. “Well,” she says, “For one thing, I’d like to get better at sleeping. I’m...not very good at it.”

Jennifer jots something in her notebook. “How so?”

“I don’t find it restful. And I have dreams. Nightmares. I don’t mind the nightmares usually, I rarely remember them, but they…” Pearl lifts a hand to gesture to her gem, then thinks better of it. “They’re disruptive, to my partners.” Jennifer nods out of the corner of Pearl’s eye, and that’s when she realizes she’s been looking into the middle distance; with an apologetic smile she tries to refocus. “Steven’s had such success with therapy here, he suggested I might try it as well. So, here I am!”

“You mentioned Steven often in your paperwork,” Jennifer says, nodding with an air of friendly interest, “is he part of your family?”

“Oh.” A more genuine smile tugs at the corners of Pearl’s mouth. “Yes. Steven is--well, Steven is my...hmm. That’s a very complicated story.” 

“We can get into that if you want, but we don’t have to right now. You clearly trust him and value his advice.” 

“I do, yes. Let’s say...I was one of his guardians, when he was a child.” 

Jennifer’s eyebrows raise in understanding. “So you’re a parental figure to him?” 

“Well, he’s not...biologically, I mean—” A little twinge of discomfort in her finger startles her; Pearl realizes she’s twisting her hands together in ways that wouldn’t be possible for a being with a skeletal structure, and tries to straighten them out. 

“He doesn’t have to be biologically yours to be your child,” Jennifer suggests. Kindly, as though it’s that simple. “But it’s for you to decide if that’s an accurate description.” 

“He...Yes. All right. He’s my…” she swallows, a foolishly human gesture, but her throat feels strangely tight. “My son,” she chokes out. Her voice is a wisp.

It sits in the air for a moment, the word, her having said it. Jennifer is watching her attentively. “It seemed like that was hard for you to say,” she offers, and Pearl nods.

“I wasn’t really expecting to—” she feels the sharp prickle of tears behind her eyes, and closes them. “I thought I’d go at least one session without crying.”

“It’s all right,” Jennifer tells her immediately, gently, and the gentleness of it makes it harder to keep the tears back. “Would you say you’re an emotional person?”

That startles a laugh out of her. She covers her face with her hands for a moment, wipes two fingers beneath her eyes. “Yes, I’d say so. Where I...ah... _grew up_ , showing emotion was very dangerous. Once I stopped holding that control, I found I couldn’t really go back.”

“That sounds very difficult; strong emotions can be uncomfortable.”

“I suppose they can sometimes,” Pearl agrees, settling her hands in her lap again. “Though I find it rather freeing.”

Jennifer nods at that. Thoughtful. “Tell me about how you cope with your emotions. It sounds like it’s changed from how you coped in your upbringing.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it an upbringing,” Pearl says, “or, not in the traditional human sense. I’m...ah...I don’t suppose you have any background on me from Steven’s therapist.”

“That would violate patient confidentiality,” Jennifer confirms, “but I have followed some of the local news in Beach City.”

“I see,” Pearl sighs. “That makes it a little easier. I’m not human. I’m a Gem, and Gems—with very, very few exceptions—don’t grow up. We aren’t born. We come into existence knowing what we are and what we’re for, and how to fill our place in Gem society. It’s…” she shakes her head. “It’s very stifling. Things are changing now. But when I was made, I was made to obey, to be still and silent unless called upon.”

“That sounds more than stifling to me. How do you feel about that part of your past?”

“Where would I even begin? Traumatized. Enraged. Ashamed. I suppose we’ll get into those things.” Pearl sighs again, feels herself slouch a little. Ignores the instinct to straighten up. “But...what I’m trying to say...I _didn’t_ cope with my emotions, for a long time. I just didn’t...allow myself to feel them. But Rose always wanted to know what I thought, what I felt, wanted me to tap into those things. So I tried. I was angry a lot, and cried a lot, and sometimes I was happier than I’d ever thought possible, all just sort of—” with a swirling gesture of her hands, she searches for the right words— “muddled up together. Any moment could be a new feeling.”

“Overwhelming?”

Pearl nods. “Yes. Disorienting. I’m a little better at it now. I try to press on, you know? While feelings are happening. There just isn’t time to get lost in it, so I keep on, if I’m able, and...take myself out of things a bit, if I’m not.”

Jennifer scribbles out another note, reads over what she’s written. “You mentioned Rose.”

“Ah,” Pearl says, surprised. “I suppose I did. Rose was Steven’s mother. Biological mother,” she adds, watching Jennifer take that in. “We were very close. That’s...I’d rather not get further into that right now.”

“All right,” Jennifer says, placid. “I think I’m starting to get a picture of how you deal with things. We could talk a little more about that if you like, or just more about your family and your support system, that’s something I try to get a sense of in early sessions with someone new. But I’m wondering if you might like to try a mindfulness exercise to process some of what you’ve gone through today. What you’re feeling right now, or the unexpected emotions you had when we talked about Steven.”

Pearl considers; Jennifer’s expression is open, waiting. She’s tried meditating with Garnet once or twice, is mindfulness like that? She wasn’t very successful at it, but maybe somehow this time will be different. “That sounds nice,” she offers, hesitant, and Jennifer nods.

“It can be. This exercise is called RAIN; it’s an acronym for Recognizing, Allowing, Investigating, and Nurturing. For the first step, you’re going to try to name what you were feeling when you had that reaction, and tell me where in your body you felt it. Does that sound all right?”

_It sounds a little simplistic_ , she thinks, but she’s trying to be open to change. She nods. Brings Steven to the front of her mind, though he’s almost always there anyway. Thinks about calling him her son, anywhere outside her own head, outside this room. In front of Garnet and Amethyst. In front of _Greg_. She thinks of saying it to Steven, and feels her throat close up.

“Fear,” she says instead, very quietly, studying her hands as they wring in her lap. “I’m not...enough.” _Good enough. Worth enough. Close enough,_ she doesn’t say. Can’t say. “Selfishness.” _None of you had what we had_. “Hurt.” She closes her eyes, takes a breath in. Thinks of Steven. “Love.”

Jennifer watches her for a long moment, giving her space, but there’s nothing left to say. “Where in your body do you feel those things?” she asks at last.

Pearl takes another breath, touches her throat. “Here.” Touches her chest. “Here.” When she looks up, Jennifer is still watching her. “Why? There’s nothing there. I don’t need to breathe. I don’t have lungs, I don’t have a heart. I don’t _understand_.”

“There doesn’t need to be a reason,” Jennifer says, a calm reassurance. “Allow yourself to feel those things, wherever they are. Sit with them. You can tell yourself that it’s okay, or just let them happen quietly.”

It feels _ridiculous_ to talk to herself out loud, so she doesn’t. Pearl folds her hands together in her lap again, feels her shoulders hunching. Her throat is tight with tears that surge and retreat like the ocean; there’s a sharp ache in her chest that radiates down her arms, to her fingertips. _My son_ , she thinks, pressing on the bruise.

“The next step is Investigating. Where does the fear come from? The hurt? What makes you think you’re not enough?”

_I don’t want to do this_ , she thinks, a sudden flash of panic. _Don’t make me do this_. But she can’t say it; she’s in it, now, she’s been asked a question, she has to give some kind of an answer. The seconds tick by, pressing, leaden—

“Rose,” she whispers, and covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m her—I’m a pearl. I can’t—” She shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t know how to _explain_ —”

“This is for you,” Jennifer says, still so calm. As though this sort of thing happens every day. It must happen every day, here in her office. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Maybe we’ll get there, but that’s up to you.”

Pearl is breathing without thinking now, deep and fast through her nose as her mouth trembles. She wasn’t planning to be turned inside out today. She wasn’t ready. Millennia of rebellion, nearly two decades of grieving and growing, and it still feels catastrophically audacious to dare claim Steven as her own. To translate everything Rose was to her, everything _she_ was to _Rose_ , into the vocabulary of the human family.

“Where does the love come from?” Jennifer asks.

Tears break through the seam of her eyelids, and she wipes her face with her hands. “Rose,” she admits, hates the way her voice wavers. “Steven. My...our family.”

Jennifer’s pen glides across her notebook. “Sometimes, when we feel very connected to other people, there can be a lot of strong emotions tied up in those connections. It sounds like you care about your family, and about Steven, very much.” She pauses. “It also sounds like some of the internal conflict you’re experiencing is coming out of your feelings about Rose, and your relationship to her.”

Pearl nods, slowly. 

“Earlier, you spoke about her in the past tense,” Jennifer says. Very, very gently.

Pearl nods again. “She’s...gone. Seventeen years.” This is more familiar territory, and she smooths her palms across her thighs. “She gave up her form to have Steven,” she says, as she’s said before, to Steven himself, to anyone who asked. 

“It sounds like that hurt you.”

“Of course it did,” Pearl says, blinking. “We lost her.”

“Grief can take a lot of forms,” Jennifer replies, “but when you named your feelings about calling Steven your son, you called it ‘hurt.’ Is that different from your grief?”

The ache in her chest flares again; she presses her knuckles against it. _She always did what she wanted_ , Pearl thinks. “She wanted him...so much,” she says, hears it come out of her mouth as if from far away. “More than she wanted to stay with us. With me. I didn’t. I didn’t want her to leave me, but...she did.”

“Pearl,” Jennifer says, and her voice is solid, steady, as if she can tell Pearl is drifting outside of this conversation. “I want you to think about Steven. Your relationship with him. Seventeen years, you said.” 

Pearl nods. She tries to do as she’s told; she thinks about the text Steven sent her yesterday afternoon, a photo of a long-beaked bird and a message that said ‘miss you.’ She thinks about him monstrous and pained, looking lost, pulling away; she thinks about him holding her hand as they walk on the beach, singing songs, making jokes. His nervous, elated smile the day he moved into the beach house. She can feel the hot weight of him in her shellshocked arms on the day he was born.

“This is the Nurturing step of the process. I want you to imagine what someone who loves you might tell you, right now. Some kind words, some comforting words. I want you to say those words to yourself.”

The kindest person she knows is _Steven_. What would he say? Or Garnet, or Amethyst? If Steven is her son, then he’s theirs too. What would Bismuth tell her, or Volleyball? 

What would Rose tell her, if she could see her, right now?

Does that even matter anymore?

“I would tell myself,” she says, looking down at her hands, “that Steven is my son. That I’m allowed to love him like he’s my son.”


	2. Week Two

“Tell me how you’ve been this week,” Jennifer says with a welcoming smile as Pearl settles onto the couch. Does every therapist have a couch? Pearl had thought that was only in movies, but perhaps she was wrong. Either way, she can’t imagine lying down on it. She crosses her legs instead. 

“Busy,” she offers first, considering. “I’m a teacher—we have a school now, for Gems, in Beach City—and we’re approaching mid-semester checkpoints. It’s a hectic time.”

“What do you teach?”

“Oh, a number of things, first semester involves several introductory courses. Human Technology, Basic Weapons Combat...I’m co-teaching a Robotics elective, which should be quite fun. And a pearls class on aerospace engineering.” She realizes her crossed leg is bouncing, so she tucks the toe behind her calf. “I try to do something pearls-only each semester. Many pearls have...specific needs that I’m more able to address than most.”

“Tell me a bit about that.” Jennifer prompts her, leaning back as though settling in to listen.

Pearl smiles, and her face feels tight. She breathes out a sigh. “I’m not sure where to begin. I think...I told you a bit about what things were like for me, on Homeworld. It was like that for many pearls. The adjustment to a life without orders and structure, a life where you make your own decisions, it’s difficult. It feels dangerous, at first. I try to provide opportunities for them to explore different fields safely, to find what they enjoy. This semester’s group expressed an interest in engineering and travel, so we’re building a spaceship from scratch.”

“That’s quite an undertaking.”

“There’s a learning curve, even for me. The modern Gem technology we have access to now is far beyond what I knew thousands of years ago.” Pearl folds her hands around her knees. “But as they say, many hands make light work! We have seven pearls in the program right now, and they’ve all been on Earth for at least a semester. They’re quite eager to learn. And I have Volleyball to help me,” she says, realizes her fingers are tapping, stills them. “She’s, ah, one of my partners.” Jennifer scribbles a note. “Romantically, I mean. But also my TA.”

Jennifer slowly absorbs this. “I take it she’s also a pearl?” She asks it with confidence, but there’s a little flicker of caution in her face. Trying not to offend? Pearl tips her mouth up into something like reassurance.

“Yes. We both served—the same Gem. I replaced Volley, actually. But here we are, millennia later, and she’s.” Pearl pauses, looking at her clasped hands. Wishing with sudden intensity that Volley was _here_ , friendly, warm. She knows how to talk to people. “She’s wonderful.”

“Having a shared history with a partner can be a great source of support,” Jennifer says. “Do you feel like that’s a part of your relationship?”

“Yes! Definitely. It was a little tricky, at first, but now it’s...very comforting. We each knew different sides of her—our—” Pearl pauses, searching. “Owner.” 

Something... _shifts_ , in Jennifer’s face. Pearl can see it, and there’s something she recognizes in it, but she doesn’t know what it means. She looks back down at her hands; she’s twisting her fingers again. “I don’t know why I’m tiptoeing around it.” 

“It seems like a difficult subject for you.”

Pearl nods. Swallows, needlessly. “Pink Diamond,” she says. “We both belonged to Pink Diamond, that’s what she was called then.”

“Did that change?”

It’s a struggle, even now, to keep her hands still in her lap. To believe that they _can_ be, that they won’t move on their own. She folds them over her knee, neat, precise. “Later, she was...Rose. My Rose.”

Jennifer processes this for a long moment, just barely nodding her head, as if it’s not a bomb Pearl has been dreading dropping. Then she scribbles a note and looks up again. “Do you and Volleyball ever discuss that aspect of your shared history?”

“Sometimes. Not very much, if I’m honest. Well. Once, very memorably, when we first—it was a surprise, to find out what Pink was like. Before I knew her. And a surprise to Volley, that she changed.”

“Is that difficult for the two of you to talk about?” 

Pearl zeroes in on her hands, clasped around her knees. “It can be painful. Our other partner, Bismuth, she...she also knew Rose. Bis and I, and Rose, we fought a war together for a thousand years. Rose hurt her.” Her thumbs rub fretfully together. “All of us. But she was someone different, to each of us. I still have trouble making sense of it, sometimes. How _good_ she could be, loving and kind and full of wonder. How hurtful she could be, too. Sometimes in the same breath.”

“Everyone has many sides,” Jennifer says. “Some they share with the world, and some they keep hidden. It sounds like you saw a lot of parts of Rose.”

“Not...as much as I wanted. And I held some things back from her. But...she saw a lot of parts of me. Some I wish she hadn’t.”

“That kind of vulnerability is frightening, and it can backfire.”

Pearl nods. Swallows. “It can be rewarding too.”

“Absolutely,” Jennifer agrees. “I think one good goal for us might be to help you think about both the rewards and the hurt, to remember those in ways that feel honest but don’t inhibit the choices you make in your current relationships.”

“I’m not...very good at that.” Pearl unhooks her foot from her calf, lets it bounce again, diverting a little of the tension that’s making her shoulders creep higher. “I’m more of a...I compartmentalize. There are everyday feelings, and there are...things I can’t touch. If I want to get anything done.”

“That’s one way of coping. Do you feel like it works for you?”

“It’s not working right now,” she says, and it comes out wavery—that’s how she realizes she’s crying again.

“Pearl.”

Pearl wipes at her eyes, and looks up. Jennifer’s active-listening-therapy face has slipped a little; anyone other than a pearl might not even notice. But there’s something very _gentle_ beneath the mask, something in the way she holds herself, in the angle of her hands. 

“That’s what this time is for. To start to examine the coping mechanisms you have for yourself, and think about how to make them work better. How to make your life outside this room happier and steadier, and build up emotional tools that do what you want them to do. Does that sound all right?”

Pearl feels, suddenly and uncomfortably, like all the layers of Pearls inside her gem are off-balance, stumbling. What would happen, if they touched? If every layer of hurt she’s put away had access to the surface? She rubs the edges of her gem, as if she can calm the seasick feeling of internal motion.

“It sounds frightening, if I’m perfectly honest. But I’m willing to try. I just...I think I’ll need...guidance.” It feels shameful to say. _I’m just a pearl_ , says some past version of her, on repeat.

Jennifer smiles. “That’s why I’m here.”


	3. Week Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings for this chapter: a panic attack, and more blatant than usual self-hatred.

“They’re so _creative_ ,” Pearl beams, when Jennifer asks about pearls class. “And supportive of each other. They’re all pursuing different pieces of the project, whatever appeals most to them, but when we meet all together to talk about progress they encourage each other and offer help. It’s delightfully collaborative.” She pulls out her phone, swipes through her photo stream; holds one up for Jennifer to see, three of her students hunched over blueprints while a fourth stands above them, asking a question, a face shield pushed up into her hair and a soldering iron in her hand. “And I didn’t teach them that! Not on purpose, at least. They just...they’re so much _better_ to each other than anyone ever was to them on Homeworld.” 

She doesn’t try to hide the pride in her voice. Even if it’s not her doing, other pearls finding the kind of community they deserve is...well. A source of very deep joy. ”And they’re working so well with other instructors I've brought into the project, to help with programming the computer systems and oversee construction, things that aren’t my expertise.”

Jennifer’s smiling too, warm and pleased. “You seem to really enjoy mentoring this way. And even if you haven't been teaching collaborative skills directly, it sounds like you’re modeling it for them, working with other instructors.”

“Oh, well.” She waves a hand. “Bismuth and Peridot. Bismuth is my other romantic partner, I think I mentioned her last week? And Peridot’s been around for years now, she’s basically family. I suppose she did spend a full day insisting I was beneath her and couldn’t possibly be an engineer or anything more than an _accessory_ , even as I was actually competing against her with a robot _I built and piloted._ But I did punch her in the face, so after that we mostly worked things out.” 

Startlement flickers across Jennifer’s face, and Pearl winces; a little of the buoyancy she started with deflates. _Too much_. “Gems are a lot sturdier than humans,” she explains, her hands tracing anxious circles in the air. “I suppose punching her sounds a bit violent to you.”

“You described some provocation,” she says, which carefully isn’t agreement or disagreement. “Do you feel like that reaction was justified? Or a loss of emotional control?”

Now, that’s a question. “Both?” Pearl equivocates.“I did lose my temper a bit, but it was certainly justified. I don’t tolerate typism, and if I’m honest, I’ve usually answered it with a blade.”

Pen scratches across paper; Jennifer’s eyes skim over her notes. “Last week you mentioned fighting in a war.”

“Yes. Thousands of years ago, nothing modern humans would remember.”

“I actually read an article in the Empire City Times this morning about archaeological research linking the Gems in Beach City to events throughout human history, including a war depicted in ancient art across every continent. It was previously believed to be mythological.” Jennifer smiles, faintly, almost embarrassed. “I...actually remember learning about it in school.”

“Oh,” Pearl replies, blindsided. The thought is...intriguing and horrifying at once. “I didn’t realize—humans just change so _quickly_. But why wouldn’t there be a record, I suppose. We—we tried. To interfere as little as possible. But there was collateral damage. I—I think every war has that, even human ones.”

“What role did—”

“That’s not true, actually,” Pearl interrupts; she can feel her limbs buzzing. Like static. “I’m sorry. When I said we tried not to interfere with humans. The rebellion tried. But when Rose and I—” she shakes her head to clear it. “When Pink Diamond and I came here, from Homeworld, we didn’t care about humans at all. About any life on Earth. This planet was just...another resource to be exploited. Ours to take. As easily as humans strip the honey from a beehive.” Pearl closes her eyes; realizes abruptly that she’s breathing. Fast. “Even that’s not—humans actually care about the bees, don’t they. More like...sweeping away an anthill with your foot.”

“Pearl,” Jennifer says. Firm. Solid, the way Garnet says it sometimes. The way Rose said it, when she wanted Pearl to listen but she wanted Pearl to _choose_ to listen. “Tell me how you’re feeling right now.”

“Fine,” she says immediately, foolishly. “Sorry. Sometimes I can get, I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed I can be talkative, Amethyst used to say I never stopped squawking, but I’m fine. It’s fine, I just, some of those things, war things, they get put away and I don’t take them out much, I suppose we do have to talk about them, that’s what therapy’s for, right?” A laugh, that even she can hear is edging toward hysterical. ”We can keep going, I’m fine.”

“You’ve said you don’t need to breathe.” Careful, like she thinks Pearl is about to fall apart. Is that the impression she’s giving? Embarrassing. 

“I don’t.”

“Yet you are,” Jennifer says. “I want you to focus on your breath. In through your nose, and out through your mouth.”

“Those things aren’t internally connected,” Pearl says, though if she’s honest she’s not entirely sure. Air goes into her, air comes out of her, moves around inside her light like the tickle of spray off the ocean. She tries to pay attention to it, instead of the way her fingers are tracing out little signs against her thighs. She breathes in. She breathes out.

“Feel how your body is moving. Right now you’re breathing in your chest. It’s expanding and contracting. Try moving it lower, to your stomach.”

“I don’t have a diaphragm either,” she snaps, but she tries; if Jennifer is insulted, she doesn’t give any indication. Pearl puts a hand over her middle to feel it move. Volley breathes there, she thinks. Behind her gem. That’s a nice thought. Volley’s gem, warm under her hand. Volley’s nose skidding tenderly along hers. Volley doesn’t know what the war was like. Has never asked her about it, and Pearl hasn’t offered. 

Pearl’s not sure she’s ever told the truth, about what the war was like. Even to the people who were there. Even to Rose.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” she admits, begrudgingly. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jennifer assures her. “It’s very common for war veterans to have difficulty talking about their experiences. Your reaction isn’t unexpected.”

“It isn’t usually like that,” she says. There’s a bitter tang at the back of her tongue, and she swallows, trying to dislodge it. “I’ve told Steven a little about it, over the years. And Amethyst. An edited version.”

Jennifer leans in, as though she’s said something intriguing. “How does it usually feel?”

Pearl has to think about that. About the day they found Rose’s scabbard among the strawberries; how badly she treated Steven that day, and the tale she wove for him after. About Amethyst, new and naive, following her around like a puppy, asking if this sword or that one had been in a battle, how many Gems could Rose poof in one fight. Why didn’t Garnet see the Corruption coming. What they would do, if Homeworld ever returned. 

Her mouth still tastes like she’s swallowed a handful of pennies. It’s a taste she remembers.

“I suppose...it doesn’t usually feel _good_.”

“You’ve talked about trying to repress some of your reactions, until you’re in a safe situation to feel them.” Jennifer says it like a statement, but her expression is a question. Pearl nods. It’s not inaccurate. “It sounded like you were trying to do that just now.”

“I,” Pearl begins, and stops. Hesitates. “It’s.” Her hand curls into her stomach. She knows the answer. The answer she _feels_ , and the answer she’s _supposed_ to feel, and they’re different.

“You don’t have to—you never have to—but I think it will help you to say what you’re thinking.”

How does she _know?_ Pearl can’t look right at her, though there’s nothing in her face or body language that indicates impatience or pressure. She looks at a plant, on the windowsill. A hosta, green and white, leaning into the sun.

“It’s dangerous to show weakness,” she admits at last. “Objectively, I know that’s not always true, but.”

“It feels true.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“It was dangerous to show _anything_ ,” she says. Quiet. Level. “A pearl can’t have emotions. Can’t show pain, or fear, or anything but—” she waves a hand in the air, and it’s trembling; a service smile slides eggshell bland onto her face. “I think...I mentioned that before.”

Jennifer nods.

“That’s just survival. I was surviving, and then...Rose taught me...Rose and I learned, together. How to live. She had such _faith_ in me. Pride. Every opinion I voiced, every idea, and I had so _many_ , I had so much to offer that nobody had ever thought to ask for before. She made me brave...and she loved that I was.”

“Did you feel safe with her?”

“Yes. _Yes._ I trusted her, even when we didn’t agree. But...the war was hard. She was fighting herself. Literally, I mean.” She twists her hands together. “The Crystal Gems were fighting Homeworld, but I think...Rose was fighting Pink Diamond. As if...they were different people. I think sometimes she truly believed they were different people. But we played both sides, for a long time, and she was counting on me. The rebellion was counting on me. I had a reputation.”

“Would showing emotion have altered your reputation?”

Pearl shakes her head. “That’s not quite—anger, or sadness, or compassion, or love, those were things we were _fighting_ for. To be allowed to exist as whole beings. But I didn’t want anyone to see me fall apart,” she insists, “to be out of control. I still don’t. A camp full of soldiers, or a Gem fresh out of the earth, or a little boy, or a classroom full of pearls—they were in my care. Rose never showed weakness, and I try not to either. I can’t do it as well as she could, but I can try.”

“What about Steven?”

“What?” The hosta comes back into focus; then Pearl slides her eyes back to Jennifer.

“How would you feel if Steven was falling apart, and needed help, and hid it from you?”

Her nose wrinkles up with the sudden force of tears. “He did.”

“And how did you feel?”

“ _Awful_.” It comes out of her on a shocked sob, and she presses a hand to her mouth. “He was _hurting_.”

“Would you rather he told you?”

“Yes!” she cries—can’t stop it, even though she sees the trap. “That’s not the same, he was a child.” Now that the dam is broken she can’t _see_ , so she squeezes her eyes shut. “We were supposed to keep him safe. He didn’t deserve—!” _What he went through,_ she can’t say. _What we couldn’t protect him from._

Her gem crawls—she presses a palm against it. She couldn’t even protect Steven from _herself_ , her own memories. She sent him inside the private horrorscapes of her past, _knowing_ what he would find, just to free herself. She can still feel it—exposure, terrifying and raw. She thought it was the only way to make things _better_ , but. She hurt him. They’ve never spoken about it. But she knows. “He didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Did _you_ deserve to be hurt?”

_“Of course I did.”_ She spits it into her hand, into the close air of the room, and if she says another word she’ll disintegrate. It hangs like the fading vibrato of a bell, and she’s collapsing inward around the space it left.

“What you’re feeling is very painful,” Jennifer murmurs. “I can see you’re struggling with it. But nothing that happens here will leave this room. It’s okay to cry.”

So she does.


	4. Week Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: discussion of self-harm.

It feels like a step _backward_ to come into her session already crying, but Pearl’s trying to be honest and she can’t manage anything less than a steady drizzle of tears today. They dispense with the _I’m sorrys_ and the _That’s all rights_ as she settles onto the couch, and Jennifer moves the box of tissues within reach. “Can you tell me what you’re reacting to right now?”

“Greg made us _tea_ this morning,” she sighs with a humiliating wobble. “He knows I like to hold it, and Amethyst loves the teabags. And he didn’t make one for Garnet because she doesn’t like it, but he got out her mug anyway—” choked, she pauses to slowly breathe. “He said. Oh—” She swallows, blows another breath out like an agitated teakettle. 

“Take your time,” Jennifer reminds her.

“Rose told him she was pregnant,” she manages. “Seventeen years ago today. She didn’t tell us until months later, but. He wanted us to know. Today was the day.” Uselessly she wipes at her eyes, shivering like a human in a snowdrift. “ _Why_ is this—” A disgusted gesture encompasses her whole form, and then she hides her eyes in her hand.

“I want you to be a little gentler on yourself,” Jennifer tells her, soft and stern. “This is new information that you haven’t had time to process, and it’s clearly bringing up a lot of difficult emotions. That’s part of the grieving process.”

Gentler. That’s not her forte. But Jennifer doesn’t say anything more, just waits as Pearl blubbers and heaves. She’s back down to simply sniffling before either of them speak again.

“I don’t know what to do.” A wisp of an admission.

Jennifer shifts in her chair, getting comfortable. “Would you like to try RAIN? That seemed to be helpful for you in our first session.”

Pearl scrubs her hands over her face and nods. “All right.”

“Then we’ll start with Recognizing. I want you to name all the emotions you’re feeling. There might be quite a few, all mixed together, or even conflicting; try to identify each of them, and show me where in your body you feel them.”

A slow sigh; a steadying inhale. “Loss,” she says first, because that’s obvious. Simple. A longtime companion, and she touches her fingertips to the center of her chest, where it hangs. “Regret,” she adds—that’s in her stomach—”anger, a little.” That one’s a warm cinder in her throat. Jennifer writes each one down in her notebook, and it’s a dreadful reminder that she’s expected to _explain_ each item on this list. “Confusion.” She touches her gem, then shifts, uncomfortable. “Love.” That one comes out on a warble as her throat contracts; she presses a palm against the pressure behind her collarbone. 

When she doesn’t continue, Jennifer steps in. “The A is for Allowing,” she murmurs. “Let yourself sit in those feelings for a little while. Tell yourself it’s okay to feel them. There’s nothing wrong or shameful about your reactions; it’s okay to be affected.”

Pearl tries, sincerely, to tell herself this. She’s spent thousands of years trying to learn that she’s allowed to feel, and it still doesn’t come naturally—feelings _happen_ , whether she wants them to or not. But...she _wants_ this to be easier. She’s been so much happier these last few years, on the whole. Steadier. It makes the little dips harder to take—and she strongly suspects that Jennifer would tell her there will always be little dips in the path. She might as well get used to it.

She forces her hands, twisted around each other, to relax. When she nods, Jennifer speaks again. “Now we have the I, for Investigating. We’ll go through the emotions you named, and I want you to tell me where they come from.” Her expression softens a little. “Take your time. Remember that your reactions are allowed; you can let them happen.”

Pearl nods. Clasps her hands around her knees.

“You named loss first.”

“That’s Rose,” she breathes out. “That...she disappeared. That the life I thought we’d have together disappeared. I fought so hard for a future with her, and—and I had it, some of it, five thousand years of it. But we could have had so much more. Tens of thousands. And maybe…” She closes her eyes; she doesn’t want to see Jennifer’s expression. “Maybe what we had wasn’t healthy. But I’ll never know if it _could_ have been.”

“That’s difficult to live with,” Jennifer agrees. “I suspect regret is related.”

“Yes. I wonder...how things would have turned out, if I’d been able to tell her—well. Lots of things.” They’re all pressing up the column of her throat, words, _confessions_ , and she swallows against the lump of them.

“Can you tell me some of what you wish you’d told her?” Jennifer cautiously prompts; Pearl nods quick and tight, tries to gather herself. She’s millimeters from crying again.

“How—it hurt, to see her with humans. With Greg. How inadequate I felt.” She wipes at her eyes as they spill over. “I lost so much _time_ with her.”

“Time she was spending with other people?”

“I—” Pearl stops, shakes her head. Starts again. “When she told us. She was going to have a baby. We didn’t have much time, and I. I wasted it.” That hurts, coming out; she curls against it. “I was so angry. I was careless. I—we went out on a mission without her. I thought we needed—practice. But I just—I couldn’t, everything was so _awful_ —” 

She’s trembling with it now, and Jennifer’s voice breaks carefully through. “Take your time,” she says again.

“I was injured,” Pearl blurts, and it comes out on a sob. “I _wanted_ to be injured. I wanted to go back into my gem, where I could pretend it wasn’t happening. So I did. _Three weeks._ ” There’s just no stopping it now, she sobs into her hands and tries to talk through it; when she looks up, Jennifer’s watching with sorrow in her face. “I could have been loving her. All that time she was pregnant, I should have been loving her. My last chance to be _enough_ , and I _wasted_ it—” 

“I know it’s awful, Pearl,” Jennifer says, “it feels awful to bring that all up again. But I want you to let it happen. I think you’ve been holding on tight to that, it’s all right to let it go.”

Hundreds of years ago, to Pearl’s dismay, Amethyst tried to describe vomiting. _“You feel super gross,”_ she’d said with some delight, _“and then all the gross comes out of you and that’s not fun either, but then afterward you feel a lot better. Like you can do anything, because you didn’t notice before how great it is to just feel fine.”_

That’s what this feels like, Pearl thinks. Hopes, as she sobs through what’s left of their hour. Tells Jennifer between hiccupping breaths that the anger is for Rose, that she waited too long to tell them what was going to happen, that she disappeared without ever lifting her final order. That she disappeared at all, unmoved by their, by _Pearl’s,_ abject sorrow. That’s the confusion, too. _Why?_ All the _whys_ she can never have answers to. 

The love...some of that’s for Rose, always for Rose. Some of it is for Steven. But today, some of it is for Greg. For the family they’ve made, in spite of everything. For his stubborn willingness to keep trying, even in the face of her disdain.

“Feeling loved and cared for by your family is incredible,” Jennifer agrees, “and knowing they support you is crucial. It can make your grief stronger sometimes, highlight the absence, but that’s something you can share.”

Pearl nods, swallowing down the trailing ends of her tears. 

“Our time’s almost up, but let’s get in the last part, Nurturing. I want you to think about your family, and the grief you’re all working through today. Think about what they might say, if you told them some of what you’ve told me. If you let them help you carry some weight, and helped them with what they’re carrying. Think about how much they care about you.”

Squeezing her eyes shut tight against a fresh torrent, Pearl nods again.

“If you’re up to it, I’d like you to talk to them about what you’re feeling this week. You can tell me how it goes at our next session.”

It takes a few more slow, deep breaths before she can answer. “I’ll try. See you next week.”


	5. Week Ten

Pearl is trying to focus, to be attentive. She rubs her thumbs into the heels of her hands, up and down, alternating. She flexes her feet, bends the points of them back and forth against the carpet. She can’t sit still, and she can see Jennifer noticing.

“I’m sorry,” she says, even though Jennifer’s told her every week that she doesn’t have to apologize so much.

“It’s all right,” comes the predictable answer. “You don’t have to sit still, Pearl. You can do whatever you need to. I’ve noticed you express yourself with your hands a lot, and that’s fine. Some people draw during their sessions, or bring other things to keep their energy occupied.”

Pearl blinks. “Really? That wouldn’t be...I don’t know.” She sketches a shape in the air. “Rude?” Her body language is... _loud_ , compared to other pearls. She’s painfully aware. Six thousand years with no others to talk to has turned all of her futile gestures into shouting. _Old-fashioned_ shouting, according to Yellow. Language, even the flickers of hands and eyes and feet, evolves over time. Volley is the only one who body-speaks like her—more subtly, of course, but equally outdated. One more thing to set them apart.

“Not rude at all,” Jennifer is saying, and Pearl tries to refocus. “I just want this time to work for you, however we can make that keep happening.”

“It _has_ been working,” Pearl assures her. “I...I’ve been feeling better, generally. I mean, I don’t know if I was feeling awful before. But setbacks seem a little easier to handle.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Jennifer smiles, warm. Genuine. Pearl settles, a little. 

“Steven’s home for a visit,” she admits. “He’s here, actually. Seeing his therapist. I love having him home! But it was a little odd today, driving here, sending him off to his session while I came to mine.”

“That’s pretty different from the usual routine,” Jennifer agrees. “Tell me what felt odd to you about it.”

“Well, it’s, we—” she stops, trying to gather the right words. “He knows I’ve been seeing you, and obviously I knew he was seeing a therapist. But we don’t talk about it very much. And now that I know what it’s like, how...draining it can be? I feel...I’m nervous. To leave here and see him right away, in the lobby. I’m nervous thinking about him somewhere down the hall talking about what hurts him. Maybe talking about me, the same as I’m talking about him.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Jennifer says, and it shouldn’t feel as _good_ as it does. Pearl is _reasonable_. Sometimes.

“I hate thinking that I’ve ever made him unhappy.” It comes out with a little laugh, airless. “That I’m a reason why he’s here. But I know I am. I’m not—I never really knew how to be a parent. None of us did.”

Jennifer smiles again, smaller but no less kind. “Pearl, there are no perfect parents, even the most prepared ones. All relationships, including between parents and children, are about vulnerability. Love comes with risk. I’m not going to tell you that it’s okay for people to hurt each other—it’s not. But it happens, and I want you to be able to talk about it. I’m sure Steven’s therapist wants him to be able to talk about it, too.”

“I know. Objectively, I know. I want him to be able to talk to me, and I want us to be honest, and I want to support him. Sometimes I feel like those things don’t match up.”

“Can you give me an example?”

Pearl considers, fingertips tracing out her thoughts on her knees. “Well. Steven...Steven is probably the kindest, most caring person I know. He always wants to help people. Even if it hurts him, even if he’s not getting what _he_ needs. I want to...I want to _see_ that more clearly. I don’t want him trying to shoulder my problems, or Rose’s problems. So...I’m still trying to figure out if that means I shouldn’t tell him when I’m feeling low, or if it’s better to tell the truth, to set that example.” She sighs at the floor. “If he’s... _my child_ , then I should protect him, shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know what the right answer is,” Jennifer says, “because every time you make that call it’ll be a little different. But it seems to me like hiding how you’re feeling hasn’t worked for you—” Pearl breathes a laugh at that— “and more openness has helped. A few weeks ago, you told me you talked with Greg and Amethyst and Garnet, and that you felt like it went well. That’s a result to take on board when you’re considering how to best relate to Steven.”

“You’re probably right.” It sounds easy, when she puts it like that. Easier than talking ever is, but. She’s still willing to try.

“Do you have particular plans with him while he’s visiting?”

“Well, after this I thought maybe we’d go out to lunch, if he’s feeling up for it,” Pearl says, “and tomorrow he’s going to come to pearls class with me. They’re all eager to meet him, and he asked to see the ship. But everyone wants to spend time with him, of course. We all miss him.”

“Of course,” Jennifer agrees. “Those sound like good ways to reestablish your bond. He’s been away for a while, and you’ve made some changes in your life. I’m sure he has too.”

Pearl nods. “He seems...more relaxed. It was hard to let him go, but I think it’s helped him. To be away from us.”

“It’s going to help him to be back for a while, too.” Jennifer leans in a little, attentive. “It’s important for a young person, striking out on their own into an adult life, to know there’s a safety net in place. I don’t have the full context, but from what you’ve told me, I think being away is helping him partly because he knows his family supports him. Whatever else may have happened, he felt secure enough to leave. Not as an escape, but as a tool for his growth. That’s important.”

Well, of all the reasons she’s cried in this office, it’s not the worst one. “I hope that’s true,” she says, and reaches for the tissue box.


	6. Week Twelve

Pearl comes into the room smiling so hard her cheeks are aching, and holds out her phone. “It’s finished!”

“The ship?” Jennifer asks, leaning close to look. “That’s incredible! It’s _oval_ , I wasn’t imagining that!”

“Like a pearl,” Pearl explains with a little flush. “That was the students’ idea, but Bismuth really made it work.” 

“You must be so pleased, what an accomplishment.”

“It’s more their accomplishment than mine, but yes. I’m _very_ proud.” When Jennifer has swiped through the five photos Pearl took yesterday, she takes the phone back and perches on the couch. “Also...relatedly, I need to ask you about scheduling.”

“Will things be changing for second semester? It’s no problem if we need to adjust.”

“Oh, no, I can work my classes around our usual time. But, for the next three weeks, do you think it would be possible to have...remote sessions? By video call? I’d rather not skip that many, if I’m honest.”

Jennifer smiles, perplexed but game. “That’s all right with me. Are you planning a trip?”

Pearl bites down on her grin, looking through the photos of the finished ship again. “The students, and Volley, they...the ship was supposed to be for the school, a group resource. And I’m sure we’ll still use it that way! But...they gifted it to me, at the end of class yesterday. As a thank you.”

“That’s a huge gesture,” Jennifer says, her smile widening. “It sounds like you’ve really had an impact on them over the course of this project.”

“I guess so,” Pearl agrees—still surprised and moved, really—“I feel very lucky to have taught them. And learned from them, too.” She looks up again. “But, that’s where I’ll be. Volley and Bis and I, we’re going to take a vacation.”

“A...space vacation?” Jennifer asks, and for the first time there’s a little awe in her voice.

Pearl laughs. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to see more of the universe. During the war, in the early years, Rose and I used to have these...fantasies. About what we’d do if we won. Travel to all the other colonies, to free them too. See the farthest reaches of Gemkind, and farther. Then...we got trapped here, with no way to leave that wouldn’t open us to a fresh incursion. We traveled the Earth instead. But it feels right, to take some version of that trip now. See what there is to see.”

“That sounds wonderful, Pearl. Are you excited for it?”

“Very much so! And nervous, too. A little sad.” She puts her phone away, and folds her hands together. “I worry about being gone for so long, though Garnet and Amethyst really have things well in hand. And...I think I’m going to miss Rose. More than usual. This was something we were supposed to have, to do together. Bis tells me I’ve been dreaming about her.”

“You mentioned sleep problems, and dreams, in your first session. Tell me a bit more about that.”

“Oh.” Pearl’s mouth twists. Jennifer is wonderful, has been wonderful. But sometimes they’re both forced to contend with the fundamental differences between Pearl and any human Jennifer has ever treated. “Hm. Gems don’t need sleep, the way humans do. On Homeworld, it wasn’t even a concept we had. A Gem might release her form under extreme stress or injury, and that’s generally a restful time, but it’s not the same. But Rose always wanted to try human things, she learned to sleep from one of her. Lovers. She taught Amethyst, Amethyst _loves_ sleeping, and Garnet will try it sometimes too. But it just seemed so _organic_ to me, and vulnerable, and I don’t—I didn’t like either of those things.”

“Vulnerability is difficult, especially for someone with your particular past traumatic experiences,” Jennifer reminds her, “but tell me a little more about what organicness means to you.”

“It’s...distasteful. It _was_. Gems aren’t organic, they’re mineral matter and light. Ageless, adaptable. Superior. That’s the kind of thinking that results in violently colonizing and exterminating wide swaths of space, right?” She takes a moment to breathe. It feels shameful—every inch of this as it creeps up her throat. It _is_ shameful. She’s allowed to feel that, and she’s allowed to hate it. What they were, as a species. It’s not even the worst part. Jennifer can probably tell; she’s waiting quietly, giving Pearl the space to collect herself. “Pearls were considered...not fully Gems, because of how we’re made. The same as Earth pearls, really, the non-sentient kind. Just. Bigger bivalves.” 

Somehow this, compared to everything else Pearl has told her, seems to shock Jennifer. As if she’s just now considering whether a piece of jewelry might somehow have consciousness. But it’s just a flicker across her face, and then she slowly nods. “You were taught to believe that your own organic nature made you lesser.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Pearl sighs out; it’s a relief to say it, to let it sit there, in the room, and feel now how wrong it is. How terrible, and how it pricks at the soft insides of her, always.

Jennifer sighs too, just a little. “Do you think internalizing that made it harder for you to embrace other organic, human habits? Even with Rose encouraging them?”

“Yes. _Yes_ , I—it seems so silly. I worried that she’d think less of me. Even though she clearly thought very much of organic life! As if by becoming more organic myself, she might.” Pearl pauses. “I might suddenly remind her that she was a Diamond, and I was comparatively...worth so much less.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

That’s easier to answer, and harder. Pearl watches her fingers rubbing anxiously together in her lap. “Less so. But yes. A little. I’m still learning how to just...be who I am, what I am.”

“That’s incredibly difficult,” Jennifer says, “and it sounds to me like you’ve come a long way with it. That’s progress to be very proud of, and also something we can keep working on together.”

“I hope you’re not insulted that I’m...not entirely looking forward to that,” Pearl says with a twist of a smile.

Jennifer chuckles. “Well, we don’t need to get into it today. We were talking about your dreams.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Eventually I learned how to sleep; many Gems on Earth sleep now. Everyone else seems to find it refreshing, but...I always wake up more tired. And I often dream, though I don’t always remember. I, ah.” She considers. “I project what I’m dreaming. Like this.” She brings to mind the ship, finished, and the moment yesterday when her class, Volley grinning like mad, said it was hers. She lets it play for a few seconds, then her gem goes dark again.

Once more Jennifer looks startled. “And when you sleep...that happens involuntarily?”

Pearl nods. “Dreams, nightmares, memories...whatever’s happening in my mind, sometimes it shows. It can be upsetting, for anyone who’s with me. I might dream about the war, or Homeworld, or any number of things Bismuth and Volley don’t need or want to see playing out again. I wear a sleep mask to cover it, but sometimes it slips off, and...I’d rather just...have better dreams.”

“I think that’s going to take time and work,” Jennifer says with particular gentleness, “but it’s something we can keep as a goal. Dreams and the subconscious can respond to your overall mental health. As we process your trauma together, your subconscious will be doing less work to process it at other times.”

She nods again, tight. She still hasn’t told Jennifer, isn’t sure _how_ to tell her, that she has perfect recall; her trauma, as Jennifer calls it, will never fade. It can only be tucked away, deeper and deeper down. She’s afraid to say so. Afraid Jennifer will tell her that there’s nothing to be done. That as far as she’s come, as happy as she’s been, it’s the best she can expect. But. 

Rose always thought she could change. Grow. And she has.

Jennifer, as always, gives her space to think. To feel. She seems to sense when Pearl is back up on the surface of her thoughts, when her attention can be caught. “Tell me what you’ve been dreaming, about Rose.”

Pearl takes a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FTH bidding ended in early March, just over a week before I went into lockdown. Steven Universe would soon be coming to an end, and syllogism (the winning bidder) wanted to catch up/see the end before settling on a prompt. We touched base again in early May, and syllogism suggested Pearl in therapy. This seemed perfect, since I love writing about Pearl and relate to her really strongly, and I'd already been thinking about writing something on this topic. At the time I was also starting to consider trying therapy again myself, after a mediocre experience almost twenty years ago.
> 
> Two weeks later, a close friend passed away very suddenly. She was 37 years old. She was, among many other things, a prolific fanfic writer--but we were never in the same fandoms. I'd never read any of her work; I still haven't. I felt a lot of shame and regret that I hadn't been a better or more attentive friend, and a lot of distress that I couldn't gather with her family and our other friends, couldn't have any kind of closure during the pandemic. That night I reached out to a local therapy center; the evening after my first appointment, I started writing this fic. The title and opening quote come from Letters to a Young Poet by Rilke, a book my friend gifted me back in 2004. It took me until this year to actually read it, but I think it resonates with some of the things I've been trying to deal with, and trying to make Pearl deal with. 
> 
> Everyone's therapy experience is unique, and this fic is based heavily on mine. It became extremely personal, both to my grief process and to the work I've been doing on older traumas. I just want to put that out there, to reassure anyone reading who's uncertain about where it's coming from. My experience isn't at all universal, but it is real. If you're thinking about therapy, or about changing therapists to find a better fit, I encourage you to try it if you can! But whatever your situation is, if you're reading this, I love and support you. Thanks for joining me on this ride.


End file.
